I Thought I Lost You
by Inhuman
Summary: Rated basically for gore. WARNING: Character Deaths. You have been warned; flames will be ignored. After the tragic event that splits the gang, Sango is left clinging to her single thread of sanity.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own.

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It had been over two months since the day he was brutally murdered. They knew the poison from the bugs Naraku repeatedly sent after him would soon take full affect.

But they didn't know _when_.

Each battle afterward was as devastating as the first. It was as if they lost a brick in a sturdy wall, and as such they were falling, slowly, one by one. Miroku was everything to them; to her. He was the comedy relief; the one person who kept the gang from going insane whilst chasing the cackling homicidal hanyou. And when he died from the poison forced into him, they were stricken with disbelief and sorrow, which only helped to make them weaker.

Then it was Shippo. His cute, carefree attitude had Naraku angered when he spoke out of term in a battle. Because of his naturally weak body, he was sent cascading off a cliff. There was no way in Hell anyone could survive such a fall. Inu Yasha had run after him in attempts to catch him, but his shirt tore, and when they checked for him after Naraku fled, there was no question about it.

In fear of also losing Kagome, Inu Yasha, through his depressed state, sent her home permanently. It was a sad day, but he was sure she'd be ok. She'd get over it, and so would he.

Inu Yasha and Sango went traveling alone for Naraku, Kirara walking solemnly by Sango's side. They began training mercilessly, attempting to strengthen their bodies and mentality. Luckily, they were ready enough when Naraku had come. Though usually they would face one of his replicas, they tracked down the real deal. To place it bluntly, Naraku was killed, horribly and inhumanely. But they didn't care.

As for Kagura, she got away. Though, they hadn't heard from her since, they could tell she wasn't one to do the things Naraku had done, though probably still a bad guy. Inu Yasha and Sango parted that day, leaving the comfort of each other's woeful minds and separating to gather it themselves. Sango had yet to ever hear from Inu Yasha again.

It had seemed to Sango that her dreams were getting more intense. First it was every certain time, then every night she would dream about him and his touch. She never got to try in reality, so why not in her mind? It hadn't occurred to her that there was a possibility she was going insane. And even if it did, she didn't seem to want to know it.

Kirara had become concerned for Sango, mewing continuously and rubbing against her profusely to make her stop envisioning things and return to how she used to be. But with her confusion, Sango was lost inside herself, and she ignored Kirara. Kirara was left to do nothing but make futile attempts at saving her master. Even then, Sango never responded with more than a pat and a "Shoo."

And everything was that way, until the one night Sango drove herself to do what she and Kirara didn't expect to happen.

It was raining that night, ironically. Drops of restless water pounded ruthlessly against the wooden hut, pushing the door with such strength that it flapped backwards. Sango couldn't sleep with the mixture of thunder and rain, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. The dream would happen again, she was sure of it. Even though the dreams were her only means of escape from reality, they just made reality worse when she awoke. She hated reality; it never did any good to anyone, not in the times of demons and wars.

She was in the midst of making some green tea, placing an old pot above a fire she made indoors, because of the rain. Creating the tea before putting it in the pot was no easy task, and she was enthusiastic when the tea was finally dumped into the steaming pot of water. Since tea took some time to mix, she poured some water on the fire, to keep the water from actually boiling, and grabbed a wooden spoon from her side. Quietly, she began twirling the spoon around in the burning liquid, content with the sound of thunder, rain, and crackling flames mixed in one.

It was at that point she was well aware of arms encircling her waist, and she jumped, startled, at the feel. The reaction caused the pot to shake and tip, the hot liquid quickly coming in contact with her legs, and as a result, she screeched pitifully in pain. She ran to move away from the water, and after cooling off her legs with a rag she found and wetted, she turned to the figure that startled her.

Low and behold, it was Miroku.

Her mouth dropped, stuttering, tears caressing her cheek as they escaped her shimmering orbs and ran down her stained cheeks. She was about to say something, when she noticed him standing in the horribly burning water.

He didn't feel a thing.

He was even _smiling._

Sango wasn't stupid. She knew immediately it was her imagination concocting yet another form of torture. But.. it was so close to his smile. So wonderfully like him. So… so _real. _She didn't know who, or what it was that took the shape of her Miroku, but she sure as Hell felt his arms around her waist. And even if this.. this _thing_ wasn't him, she was content with knowing she could actually feel him. She could feel him, instead of faking it in her dreams.

He smiled wider, and walked closer, until his breath was tickling her skin. The temptation that overtook her crawled through her skin, reverberating off the walls of her brain in a mental form of torture. She wanted to touch him, so she stuck her hand out.

But it went right through.

How was it that he could touch her, when she could not touch him? It made no sense, and yet, she didn't care. He was there, that's all that mattered.

And just as quickly as he had walked up to her, he grinned evilly.

Almost.. maliciously?

The wonderful feeling in her body ceased immediately at the feeling of cold, hard metal. She screamed, but nothing came out. Her features twisted in horror, pain, and confusion. Clutching widely at her stomach, she looked up at his madly grinning face, then down to her hands.

She gasped, or tried to, at least.

Somehow, while he was entrancing her, he had grabbed her sword from all the way _across_ the room, and forced it into her exposed bowels. She pulled her hands away, watching as the blood spurted outwards and pooled around her feet. Her hands were matted in the fresh liquid, stained in the color that taunted her horribly. The wound seemed to widen as she breathed, stretching like rubber would. But much more painful. She again attempted to scream, tears falling down her cheeks unconsciously. The blood covered her stomach, slipping under the ripped kimono, and falling until it reached the hard floor.

Kirara was nearly screaming for her, her meows causing a headache to boom in Sango's head as she attempted to help her friend. But Kirara could do nothing but watch, helplessly.

"Mi..roku.." She gurgled out, blood coming in a river out of her mouth, trickling down the side of her face to drip onto the floor.

Each drip was worse than the previous; taunting her with their screams.

She collapsed to her knees, staring at him, but staring at nothing. Looking straight through him, uncaring of how the world was passing her by, how the rain and thunder consoled her with their woeful cries. And as tears mixed with the blood on the floor; as rain mixed with the misery she displayed; as confusion mixed with the anger she had; she collapsed.

She had collapsed.

Finally.

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It was morning, the sun rising over the hills happily in a warm greeting to all those who stopped to care. Birds sang their songs and people went on their busy, yet merry ways to keep the town alive. The beauty of the morning was perfect in the little, happy town. That is, every other morning. Gossip traveled across the village, little children running away in boredom, adults gathering into groups to tell their side of the story. But in one certain group, the story couldn't have been more real, for one of them had seen the young woman plenty of times before.

He had seen the mad look in her eyes.

"They say she died last night, ya' hear?"

"Mhmm. I heard everything. In fact, I _saw_ her, gentlemen. And I noticed her troubled insanity before anyone else even realized it. Yup. I know exactly what happened last night."

"Alright, boy! If you know everything, then tell us for yourself!"

"She killed herself."

"But, they said it was a homicide. She was stabbed in the stomach with her own sword, and they said the fingerprints on it weren't hers. They had wiped down the sword until they gathered the fingerprints with their newfound technology, though it isn't much. They checked her fingers, it wasn't hers."

"There were no fingerprints on it."

"What?! Boy, you're nuts. There has to be."

"Well, there were. Fingerprints of her when she used it in battles, but that's irrelevant."

"Fine. Then how do you suppose she did it if she didn't touch that sword? It was the only sharp object in there capable of causing a gash that horrid."

"Really, I thought old folks were the wisest of 'em all. What do you suppose, what with her insane animalistic eyes?"

"I…"

"Gentlemen. Some things just can't be explained. There are paranormal activities involving ghosts, and such that occur every so often."

"So you suppose a ghost killed her? That's impossible! Ghosts can't kill people, merely annoy-"

"Let me finish, sir."

"…."

"I have not the amount of time you'd wish for me to explain this, so I'll leave you with but these final words."

"…."

"When you want something as bad as that girl did, your mind unconsciously finds ways to help you."

"Wh.. what?"

"This could be considered both homicide and suicide. But, believe me boys, if you want something bad enough, you'll get it."

Oh yes. In the end, you'll _always_ get it.

-OWARI.-


End file.
